


Lethe

by Pigeon



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Coping with the past, Implied Non-Con, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One of 'em things that happens, luv, if you knock about in rough places for long enough</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lethe

Rum (dark and sticky and bittersweet) is splashed across the table. It fills the deep scratches and gouges in the wood. Forms puddles and drips with a soft monotony from the edge.

_"One of 'em things that happens, luv, if you knock about in rough places for long enough."_

The bottle lies on its side, rolling slightly with the sway of the ship.

The clock ticks.

And Will refuses to look at the body passed out on the bed.

_"Long time ago now, darlin', barely even think of it. Honestly, not like I were some virgin maid anyhow. Don't fret 'bout it. The past, savvy?"_

He drags one finger through the thick pools of alcohol. The smell is heavy and rich. Will brings his finger to his mouth and sucks away the droplets.

On deck he hears the watch called.

_"Not going to tell you details, mate. You don't need to hear them, all young and shiny and innocent… well not as much as you was a few months ago admittedly, but still… innocent as you are. And there's little enough point."_

There's another bottle, another three cases if he's going to be accurate, tucked away in the sideboard, and Will has a desire to drink until he forgets and can sleep peaceably.

The air has turned chilly, and his arms are pricked with gooseflesh.

On the bed Jack murmurs something low and incomprehensible and shifts over onto his stomach.

_"Because it's different, mate. Because it's always different. It's only the same if you're dead and cold and don't care anymore."_

Will stands. Rum and oblivion appeals, but already he feels a sharp nausea unsettling his stomach.

Jack is entangled in the bedclothes (silk and cotton and wool), fingers giving little twitches, breath steady and deep.

Shedding boots, and jerkin, and shirt, and breeches, Will clambers across Jack and tucks himself up next to the wall.

_"And I have never once thought or remembered and got it all twisted up in me head when we kissed. Or did any of those other delicious things we've done. Cross my heart, luv."_

He wants to forget. He wants his memory wiped clean. To not know any of this.

It hurts.

It hurts and there is a solid ball of pain nestled tight in his chest.

It hurts but it happened and nothing will make that different or better or right.

_"P'raps I shouldn't have told you."_

Will stretches out an arm, tucking it about Jack's waist, drawing him back to lie pressed against his chest.

The Pearl rocks gently.

Will takes a breath (scent of rum, and salt, and fiercely Jack).

_"No. I'm glad you did, Jack."_

_"Sure?"_

_"Yes."_


End file.
